


The Gramophone

by WolfAndHound_Archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drama, First War with Voldemort, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-06
Updated: 2016-02-06
Packaged: 2018-05-18 15:00:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5932528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfAndHound_Archivist/pseuds/WolfAndHound_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To cheer Remus up, Sirius takes him junk shopping, where he finds the love of his life -- an antique gramophone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gramophone

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Lassenia, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Wolf and Hound](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Wolf_and_Hound), which was created to make stories posted to the Sirius_Black_and_Remus_Lupin Yahoo! mailing list easier to find. However, even though I still love the fandom, I am no longer active in it and do not have the time to maintain it. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in December 2015. I posted an announcement with Open Doors, but we may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Wolf and Hound collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/wolfandhound/profile).

It was a decidedly wretched January day, and Remus had just been fired from his most recent job. He came home to find Sirius listening to the WWN in the kitchen as he made himself a peanut-butter and jelly sandwich.

"Home early, Rem?" Sirius called, and Remus sighed.

"You might say that," he replied, pulling off his wet coat and scarf.

"How d'you mean?"

He leaned against the door to remove his shoes, which were soaked through and at least a size too small, holding his breath with the effort of it. Sirius came in from the kitchen, his sandwich in his hand. "How d'you mean?" he repeated through a mouthful of sandwich.

Remus was still tugging at the shoe on his left foot. It came off with a squelch and he breathed suddenly. "They sacked me," Remus said, catching his breath before turning his attention to his other shoe.

"What?!" Sirius shouted, and Remus got a good view of a half-chewed sandwich.

"Shut your mouth, Padfoot," he grunted. For a moment, he struggled with his second shoe. It, too, came off with a thick, wet noise, and he tossed it down next to its mate. "It was going to happen eventually." 

"That's bollocks!" Sirius did not work. He had been granted a small fortune, which was really more of a large fortune in Remus' estimation, by a kind uncle, and this money was more than enough to support the two of them. He often tried to impress this upon Remus, who always resisted. As someone who had never worked, Sirius had trouble understanding the pride Remus took in being employed. As someone who had never worked, Sirius also had trouble understanding Remus' problems with his various employers.

"No it isn't. Give me a bite of that sandwich," he said, trying to keep his tone light. He took the sandwich from the other man's hands and proceeded to eat half of it in one bite.

"Oh, so I suppose you did something to _make_ them fire you, then." There was intense doubt in Sirius' voice. Remus wasn't beyond anger (usually of the righteous variety), but he would never be disrespectful toward an employer.

"Of course I didn't," Remus snapped after he had swallowed.

"So tell me why anyone in their right mind would sack you." Sirius new perfectly well why, and Remus bristled.

"I don't want to talk about it."

Sirius snorted. "Oh, that's a great solution--"

"Did you miss the announcement, you great twit, or hadn't you realized I'm a werewolf?" He turned and walked into the kitchen. Sirius followed, though Remus wished he would just disappear for a while. Once he reached his destination, he found nothing to do and was forced to face Sirius.

"Rem . . ."

"Never mind, Sirius."

"Remus."

_"Never mind."_

"Look--"

"Leave it," Remus snarled and pushed past Sirius to get out of the kitchen. He went into their bedroom and shut the door behind him.

"Remus!" Sirius called through the door.

"Just let me lick my wounds in peace," Remus said, frustrated and miserable, his throat tight. He found himself in a very odd position: leaning against his bedroom door, holding half a peanut-butter and jelly sandwich, newly unemployed and closer to tears than he had been in months.

Sirius knocked at the bedroom door at half past eight. "I've made dinner," he said. His voice had an apologetic tone which Sirius seldom used.

Remus looked balefully at the door. It was unlocked, and he half wished Sirius would come in and sit with him, but he couldn't make a thing true by wishing it and Sirius stayed in the hall. "Maybe later," he said. 

"OK," Sirius said, and Remus could hear him walking back toward the kitchen.

Remus was disappointed to wake up alone the next morning. He had been sure that Sirius would join him when it came time to go to bed. As he fell asleep on his side of the bed, he'd been comforted by the thought of Sirius returning some time during the night.

He sighed, all of his misery coming back to him. He rolled onto his back and tried not to think about it too hard. Normally, he prided himself in taking his lumps with as much grace as he could. Sometimes, though, the lumps were harder to take than usual. Yesterday had witnessed a markedly dishonorable, and very public, discharge from the ranks of Tromp and Wimble, Esq.

It would work out, though. He'd find another job and he'd have more time to do work for the Order in the meantime. Maybe he'd even have a chance to spend some real, quality time with Sirius. That possibility alone had always made the idea of living off Sirius' inheritance very appealing, and while he wasn't ready to accept the offer for good, it might be nice for a while.

With these thoughts to fortify him, Remus got up and dressed. He ran a comb through his hair and stepped out of the bedroom. 

A small jolt of unreasonable apprehension went through him when he saw that Sirius wasn't asleep on the sofa. Then he heard the rustling of papers from the kitchen, and something in his chest seemed to relax again.

Sirius was there, reading the paper, the spoon in his cup stirring the tea itself. "Morning," Remus said, and Sirius looked up.

"Still angry?" Sirius said, his expression soft.

"I wasn't angry at you," Remus replied, easing himself into the chair opposite his lover. 

After a few minutes of silence, Sirius ventured, "Was it bad?"

"I'd wager it was." He glanced at the teapot at the center of the table. "Is there any more tea?"

Sirius shuffled the newspaper aside and tapped the teapot once with his wand. The teapot levitated and tipped forwards. A teacup squeezed itself out of the spout like liquid and then settled down onto the table to receive the steaming tea that followed it. Sirius reached out, tapped the teacup, and said, "One sugar, just a dash of cream."

Remus took a sip of the tea, which was just the way he liked it. "Thanks," he said.

"I meant to make breakfast," Sirius offered, "but there was nothing worth cooking." He folded the paper and set it aside. "Maybe we could go out for breakfast."

Remus smiled a little. "I don't really feel much like going out, I'm afraid."

"Oh," Sirius said, looking a little deflated. He recovered quickly. "All right, then, we'll stay in."

They were lying on their bed, both facing the ceiling. Their skin was sweaty and Remus was a little sore, as if he'd just run too far. Sirius turned on his side to press a kiss to Remus' collarbone.

"I'm sorry, Moony," he murmured.

Remus exhaled slowly. "Don't be." He touched Sirius' damp hair, running his fingers through the dark strands. "It'll work out."

"I know, but -- They're bastards, you know."

Remus smiled. "Who, the entire wizarding work force?"

"If need be," Sirius replied and kissed Remus' mouth. They kissed quietly for a few minutes, languid now, in no hurry to do anything else just at the moment. After a time, Sirius asked, "What time is it?"

"I don't know," Remus said.

Sirius propped himself up on one arm to look at the clock. "One-thirty," he said, and flopped back down against the pillows.

"And why are you so curious?" Remus slid one hand gently over Sirius' chest. It was getting a little cold, lying on top of the covers this way.

"I still want to take you out."

"Sirius, I really don't think I'm up for it. Maybe tomorrow . . ."

"It'll cheer you up," Sirius persisted. 

"I don't know . . ."

"Come on. It can't hurt."

"Well . . ."

"It'll be fun."

Remus sighed. "All right. But if I start crying in the middle of Diagon Alley, or something horrible like that, I'll never forgive you."

"All right, all right," Sirius said, kissing Remus quickly. "But we're not going to Diagon Alley." And with that, he rolled off the bed and got into the bath.

They did not, in fact, go to Diagon Alley. First, because they were both ravenously hungry, they bought kebabs and, against their better judgment, stood huddled under an awning to eat them. 

Once they had thrown away their trash, Sirius took Remus by the arm and said, "Come on."

"Where are we going, anyway?" Remus asked as they walked through the frigid, slushy streets.

"Nowhere special. You'll see."

They walked quite a long while to get 'nowhere special,' Sirius never letting go of Remus' arm as they went.

Finally, he stopped short in front of a dull little pawn shop. "Firearm's Bought and Sold," the writing on the window proclaimed, adding, "Jewelry Television's Radio's Personal Affect's."

"Let's go," Sirius said, pulling on Remus' arm.

"What?" Remus asked as Sirius stepped onto the threshold. "A pawn shop."

"To start with," his lover said, and dragged him inside.

The interior of the shop was all white walls and acoustic ceiling tiling. The requisite glass display cases and dark faux-wooden shelving seemed almost accidental. An entire wall was covered with rifles behind glass. 

The proprietor of the shop sat at the counter, doing his best to ignore them. He was doing very well, indeed, his entire upper body, save his hands, hidden behind a newspaper.

Affected by the heavy silence, Remus and Sirius moved quietly around the small room, whispering to each other.

Sirius glanced at the rifles curiously. "Are they for real about all that?" he asked.

"Hmm?" Remus followed his gaze.

"Guns and things. Do Muggles really run about with those things in their waistbands, shooting each other up?"

Remus smiled. "I wouldn't exactly go that far. Besides, you wouldn't put a rifle down your pants. It's far too large."

_"Moony."_

"Well, it's true." He paused, sifting through a box of rusty brooches. "Muggles do carry guns, and they are very dangerous."

"They look silly," Sirius murmured.

"It wouldn't look so silly if someone had just shot you in the kneecap."

"And you speak from experience, I take it?"

"Oh, clearly."

"Hey, look at this," Sirius said, pointing to a box next to the one Remus was currently examining. The cardboard box was full of wedding rings. "That's a little mad, isn't it?"

Remus had to agree. All those lives he could just pick up and hold in his hand. All those precious rings, worth months of hard work, discarded, completely unwanted.

"You could have one for each finger," Sirius said.

"Not if I have anything to say about it," Remus said, picking one ring up and holding it at a distance. It was much too small for his fingers, and he had a little bit of trouble imagining what sort of person had such small fingers. His only probable candidate was someone approximately Professor Flitwick's size, and he put the ring back in the box, smiling. "Well, I think we've about exhausted the charm of this place. What's next?"

"Next shop," Sirius said, offering his arm again and leading Remus out of the shop. As they stepped back onto the frigid street, he continued, "Thought making a tour of all the junk shops might cheer you up."

"Is that so?"

"That is so."

"And why is that?" Remus asked, smiling. "Because I'm such a pack rat? You're one to talk about hoarding things, Padfoot."

Sirius laughed bravely against the chilly wind. "Right, whatever you say."

They walked into the next shop arm-in-arm, getting melting snow all over the pea-green carpet. 

"No, really," Remus said as he shut the door behind him. "Why did you think of this?"

Sirius shrugged. "Dunno. Just thought it might be fun."

Remus did think it was fun. He also suspected that Sirius was fascinated with all this Muggle junk, himself, but that didn't detract from his enjoyment of the afternoon.

They went through numerous antique shops, some high-end with lots of heavy wooden furniture, some little more than holes in the wall. They spent a good quarter of an hour in one shop, trying on disgustingly elaborate hats. Remus wished for a camera when he found Sirius with a bright pink pillbox hat atop his head, although he had the feeling it would be a hard sight to forget. They leaned against each other, smothering their laughter against their shoulders and touching each other for the simple pleasure of it.

On the way out of their fifth or sixth -- or maybe seventh -- shop, Sirius slung his arm around Remus' shoulder and asked, "Feeling better?"

Remus was quiet for a moment before he replied. "A bit. It's a good distraction." Then, in the middle of the snowy sidewalk, he turned his head and kissed Sirius gently on the mouth. As Sirius began to return the gesture, a passing car honked loudly at them and somebody shouted out the window, "Bloody faggots!"

Laughing nervously, Remus pushed away from Sirius and said, "Come on, let's go in before somebody comes out with a pitchfork," trying to keep his voice light. He pulled his lover haphazardly into the nearest shop.

It was nearly impossible to get in. There were large purple beads hanging in the doorway which smelled distinctly of cat urine. A hat stand, heavily draped with molting feather boas, was crushed into the entryway, and Remus nearly knocked over a four-foot stack of National Geographic magazines as he went in.

The front window was covered over with what appeared to be Christmas-themed wrapping paper, and some of the lights were a dullish sort of red, lending the shop a dim, eerie quality. There were newspaper clippings taped to the wrapping paper: restaurant reviews and color comic strips and letters to the editor.

The shop, which smelled rather strongly of elderly people, appeared to be empty. An antique cash register sat on the counter, its polished surface glowing in the red lights. There was nobody behind the counter to tend the register, but a half-finished bottle of Coca-Cola suggested that it had only recently been abandoned. Aside from their own footsteps, the shop seemed wrapped in an almost comatose silence.

"Reckon they're about to close?" Sirius whispered, affected by the quiet of the room.

"I shouldn't think so," Remus replied softly. "It's not that late."

The counter had a glass front, and there was an elaborate display of costume buttons spread out along the faded velvet bottom of the case. The buttons, many of them coated in rhinestones or glitter, were sewn down to spell the word "Welcome." A lamp with a base made from a plastic hula girl sat at the other end of the counter, switched on and flickering occasionally.

Most of the items for sale were not worth half a penny, things like moth-eaten rugs, Bakelite reading glasses, spats with the soles curling away from the uppers. An entire glass case was filled with ceramic clown figurines, and a stringless guitar with a hole in the top was resting in a three-legged chair. A 1945 Hastings refrigerator was pushed up against one wall. 

"Who ever heard of a Hastings refrigerator?" Sirius mumbled, leaning close to Remus' ear.

"But look what's in it," Remus replied.

The door was held open by a large, plastic flamingo. The refrigerator, Remus had realized, was full of books. They were all slightly moldy, some of them travel books but most of them paperback romance novels. Sirius laughed, the sound falling flat in the thick air. He slipped out book called "This Bitter Ecstasy" out of its stack. The pale-faced redhead on the cover was embracing a swarthy lover against a black background. "Looks sort of like Lily, doesn't it," Sirius said and Remus made a face.

"Please, spare me that mental image," he said. When Sirius opened the book and began to read it, Remus was mildly horrified. "You're not going to buy that, are you?"

Sirius looked up at Remus, smiling in such a way that he bared his neat, white teeth. " 'Desire flamed in her,' " he read, grinning, " 'more intense than ever. She didn't -- she couldn't -- move away, not even when his hand slowly began to draw a circle about her pink-tipped nipple and traveled downward, feathering her body gently with delicious chills, coming to rest upon her mound as he gently massaged her into ecstasy.' "

"Sirius!" Remus exclaimed in a loud whisper. "Stop! That's indecent and it's very poorly written!"

But Sirius just laughed, licked his fingertip and turned the page. He considered this next page with a connoisseur's eye. After sucking on his teeth for a moment, he continued. " 'But as she felt his hardness and maleness against her, she resisted for just a moment . . . not rejection, but the pause of some wild thing breaking within her.' " He looked up, smirking. "You know all about that, don't you, Moony."

"Shove it, Sirius," Remus muttered.

"Where . . . ?" 

Remus rolled his eyes. "You cad."

Sirius laughed, and Remus took the book from his hands. He glanced at the page before him and snorted. " 'Her body writhed with the first plunge and she dug her nails into his back'? How can people read this?"

"I don't think they really read it so much as wank to it," Sirius said, smiling suggestively.

"You're an idiot," Remus said decisively and put the book back in the frigidaire. "Come on, we've had enough romance novels." He took Sirius' arm and led him onward.

They came to a small staircase leading into a basement room. A cardboard sign on the wall beside the railing read, "ROOM 3 MILLY -- ALL 08ACF."

"Shall we go down?" Sirius asked.

"I don't see why not," he replied.

Sirius smiled. "After all, it isn't as if there's anyone around to stop us."

It was true. No shopkeeper had materialized yet, and so they made their way down the steps. This room was more neatly kept, and smelled much less objectionable. A tall Art Nouveau print was hung on the wall, next to a couple of imitation Monets, both of water lilies. A large chiffarobe was full of clean, bright vintage frocks and neatly folded men's shirts. Several pairs of high-heeled shoes were arranged along the floor, and an ornate cement flower pot held a large bouquet of silk flowers. At the center of the room, a long table was covered with boxes of gloves and jewelry and little trinkets. 

"Check this out," Sirius said. A whole collection of gold marbles were spread out in a little velvet case. "They look gobstones, don't they?"

"Not any gobstones I ever owned," Remus replied. Sirius' brother, in fact, had been the owner of a set of solid gold gobstones, which had caused Sirius a considerable amount of jealousy despite the fact that he didn't particularly care for the game. Remus wasn't really interested in the golden marbles, however. His attention was fixed on an old gramophone resting on a chipped end table in the corner of the room.

It was beautiful. The base was worn, and the varnish was thin in places, as was the paint on the horn, but the curve of the horn was graceful, the look of the thing as a whole composed and elegant. There was a hand crank on it, and the stylus and needle were in perfect condition. A record was in place on it, just begging to be played.

Remus could feel himself drifting toward it, fascinated. He had fond memories of his grandmother's old phonograph and the music she would play when she looked after him. He put his hand on the crank and hesitated a moment before turning it around.

"Think these are really marbles?" Sirius asked from behind him.

"Mm," Remus replied, winding the gramophone up until it would go no further.

"Maybe some Muggle got a hold of a real set of gobstones."

"Maybe," Remus echoed. He let go of the crank and set the stylus on top of the spinning record. Suddenly music filled the room.

_"I've flown around the world in a plane . . . I've settled revolutions in Spain . . ."_ the woman on the record sang. The record turned, staid and consistent, while the needle undulated softly over the grooves in the black vinyl.

Remus was in love.

"Moony?" Sirius said, finally joining him in the corner. "What's this?"

_". . . But can't get started with you . . ."_

"Isn't it lovely?" Remus asked, smiling.

"You all right?" his lover asked, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Mm-hmm . . ."

_"And all the movies want me to star . . . I've got a house, a show place, but I get no place . . ."_

"Um . . ." 

_"You're so supreme . . . !"_

"Anyone down here?"

Remus and Sirius both jumped. 

"Merlin's n--"

"Yes, just looking!" Remus called, speaking over Sirius' exclamation.

A short, grey-haired woman appeared at the foot of the stairs. She had a long, blue caftan on over a pair of leggings. "Well, hello," she said.

"Hullo," Sirius, a little nonplussed.

"Have you been here all this while?" the woman asked.

"Just for a bit," Remus replied.

"Oh. I see you've found this little treasure."

"It's wonderful," Remus said.

"It's been hard to sell the thing," the shopkeeper admitted. "The lady who's consigned it's asking an arm and a leg, so to speak. But it's worth it, I can tell you. I looked it up in the books, and all, and it's worth it. It's a real classic. In good condition, all things considered. It's well worth it, but you know how people are."

"Right." Remus studied the woman's shoes.

A lush, almost tinny horn solo filled the silence. Sirius watched his lover, studied his bowed head and slightly hunched shoulders.

The solo ended abruptly and Sirius said, "We'll take it."

"Oh!" the woman said at the same moment that Remus said, "What?"

"We'll take it," Sirius repeated, adding in an undertone, "Don't even think about arguing, Moony."

"But you don't even like it," Remus hissed.

"Shut up," Sirius replied before smiling charmingly at the shopkeeper. "Shall we take it upstairs?"

Sirius helped the woman carry the phonograph upstairs while Remus trailed along behind them, awestruck. He shouldn't have been too shocked by Sirius' gesture. His lover was by no means tightfisted, but the gramophone was so beautiful and Sirius' decision had been so sudden that he couldn't really believe it had happened.

Some part of him could not bear to know how much Sirius had to pay for it, so he stood by the beaded curtains with his back to the register and busied himself with looking through a cardboard box full of rusty car parts. Another part of him was itching to get home and play records on his beautiful new gramophone, but he pushed this impulse aside and forced himself to be patient.

When they finally left the shop, the phonograph covered in a plastic garbage bag and nestled in a large box, it was snowing.

"We ought to Apparate," Sirius said, squinting up at the sky.

"All right," Remus said, and they walked into a nearby alleyway, lugging their burden along between them.

With a crack, they were back in their flat. Remus set a levitating charm on the box and floated it into the living room. He let the box come to rest on the sofa and stood back, trying to decide where to put the gramophone. Meanwhile, Sirius lit a fire in the grate and went into the kitchen to make tea.

As he removed his jacket, scarf and shoes, Remus considered the living room. Stacks of old newspapers sat on the coffee table, waiting to be read, dark circular stains marking former locations of cups. The upholstery on the squashy, red armchair by the fire was beginning to wear out, and the stuffing was visible on the arms. The many photographs pinned to the walls moved constantly, making it seem as if the room were swaying slightly. A small end table in the opposite corner held an old brass lamp. Remus thought the gramophone would fit in perfectly, if only he could find a place to put it.

Finally, he fixed his attention on the end table bearing the lamp. He approached it and put the lamp on the floor for the time being. Taking out his wand, he pulled the table away from the wall a bit. With a well-learned flick of his wrist, he transfigured the small table into something longer. The dark varnish on the table wavered, disappearing from the wood once before settling over the whole of the new table. Remus then replaced the lamp on one side of the table.

He lovingly uncovered the gramophone and levitated it onto the new table. "Perfect," he said to himself, smiling.

Sirius returned bearing two steaming cups of tea. He sat down on the sofa and put the teacups down on the table before him. "Come on, have a seat," Sirius said, patting the sofa beside him.

"Not just yet," Remus said, and left the room. 

He returned a few minutes later with a record in hand. He cranked up the phonograph and deposited the record in the tray, placing the stylus over it. After switching it on, he turned to Sirius and said, "Get up."

As the cheerful sound of a swing band began to fill the room, Sirius obeyed. Remus pushed all the furniture back against the walls with a swish of his wand. "Dance with me," he said, putting his wand in his pocket.

Sirius was all too glad to comply, and as they put their arms around each other and began to move with the unpracticed grace of casual dancers, he asked, "Feeling better?"

Remus smiled. "Much better. Thanks to you."


End file.
